


Blessings Brighten

by Thursday_Next



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 20:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thursday_Next/pseuds/Thursday_Next
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sybil and Gwen run away together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blessings Brighten

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inlovewithnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/gifts).



> Written for inlovewithnight for femslashexchange2013. Many thanks to muccamukk for betaing .
> 
> A Sybil/Gwen coda to series 1.

_Blessings brighten as they take their flight._

\--Edward Young, ‘Night Thoughts’

 

“This is it then,” Thomas said, leaning in as though they were co-conspirators. “The last supper.”

“I suppose,” Gwen answered him. She felt a curious pinch of excitement tempered by regret. This past month had been a strange one and no mistake, knowing it was her last here at Downton, her last days working as a housemaid. Each morning she rose, each tray she carried, each bannister she polished, the thought of it thudded in a rhythmic pulse: no more uniform, no more polishing, no more curtseying, no more Downton. She wouldn’t be sorry to leave the position, but she’d miss the people: Anna, who was her friend, Mrs Hughes who was such a strong, sensible presence, Daisy who made her laugh. 

And Lady Sybil. Somehow, when Gwen pictured Downton and all she would leave behind, it was Lady Sybil’s face which came to mind, flushed with excitement, eyes sparkling as she clasped Gwen’s hand in – friendship? She’d said friendship and yet it could hardly be so between an Earl’s daughter and a housemaid. Not a housemaid much longer, Gwen reminded herself; but as a secretary off in York she would have even less cause to call Lady Sybil her friend. 

Thomas pushed on into the servants’ hall and took a seat, lounging with one foot up on the chair next to him as if daring someone to comment. Nobody did. If he was spoiling for a fight on his last night at Downton, there was no-one there who would give him the satisfaction. Even Carson had turned a blind eye to some of Thomas’s lapses in proper behaviour over the past few weeks. Gwen supposed he was as sorry to be rid of him as Thomas was to leave – which was to say not at all. 

Dinner was a pie with some of Mrs Patmore’s gravy. It was Gwen’s favourite, although if Mrs Patmore had made it on purpose on her account, she’d never admit to it. Servants at a big house came and went and there were no speeches, no toasts, but Mrs Hughes turned to her during a lull at the end of dinner.

“I hope you will have every success in your new career, Gwen,” she said, “We all wish you well.”

“Thank you Mrs Hughes,” Gwen said.

“If you wish to go up early and pack, you may.”

Gwen nodded her thanks and pushed her chair back. She had been putting away bits and pieces, but the majority of her packing would have to be done tonight. She had an early train to catch in the morning.

“And what about me?” Thomas said expansively, leaning back in his chair. “Don’t I get some sort of send-off?”

“I am sure we all hope that you will endeavour to do your country proud,” Mr Carson said, looking rather severely at Thomas as if he thought that hope was a vain one. “If you wish to pack too, I’m sure we can bear the loss of your company.”

Gwen didn’t stay to hear what Thomas had to say to that, if anything, instead hurrying up the stairs and into the little room she shared with Anna. She pulled out her valise from under the bed and began to fold her clothes. She hadn’t many of her own, she hadn’t need of them when she wore uniform mostly every day. She hoped her new wages would stretch to a few new dresses at least. She left out a brown wool skirt and jacket and a cream blouse for travelling, thinking how strange it would be to wake on a weekday and put on such an outfit.

It was with no small amount of satisfaction that Gwen pulled loose the pins that kept her housemaid’s cap in place, letting her hair fall free over her shoulders. She folded the cap and left it on Anna’s bed; her replacement might have need of a spare, while Gwen never would again. 

She’d half-unbuttoned her blouse when there was a knock at the door. 

“Come in,” she called, thinking it must be Anna, or one of the other maids, maybe even Mrs Hughes – who else could it be in the women’s quarters?

There was a soft, startled “Oh!” from the doorway, and Gwen looked up to see Lady Sybil, eyes bright and a little breathless, as though she’d run up the stairs. Gwen averted her eyes from the rise and fall of Lady Sybil’s chest, suddenly conscious her own state of undress. Lady Sybil’s eyes dragged their way up to Gwen’s face, seeming a little flustered.

“You’re packing.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Of course. Of course you would be, it just makes it all seem so –“ Lady Sybil fluttered her hands a little, agitated. “May I come in?”

“Yes, of course, please, sit.” Gwen gestured helplessly around her, although there was nowhere to sit but Anna’s bed, really, every other surface cluttered with her packing case, her clothes, her few books. Lady Sybil did not seem to mind, ignoring the invitation to sit, hovering instead, her feet quite still but the rest of her seeming to vibrate with a nervous energy. _Like a hummingbird_ , Gwen thought, reminded of a beautiful coloured picture in a book of birds she’d seen once at her grandfather’s house when she was a child.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you much these past few weeks. There’s so much to arrange, you see, and I didn’t want – not until I was quite sure, you understand.” Gwen did not understand, but she nodded all the same. “I hope you didn’t think yourself abandoned.” Sybil looked at her, quite earnestly. There wasn’t much Gwen could say to that. She had felt the loss of Lady Sybil’s company, of course. She’d made up her mind that, for all her protestations of friendship, Lady Sybil had viewed her only as a project after all. That once she had completed her task and found Gwen a job, she had no further need to spend time with her. 

“You’ve come to say goodbye then, my lady?” Gwen asked. It was more than she could have hoped for, really, so she wasn’t quite sure why the thought made her feel so lost.

“No, that’s not –“ Sybil broke off, glanced over at the door and then walked purposefully over and shut it, leaning against it as though to bodily prevent any interruption. “Don’t take the job.”

“What?” Gwen’s eyebrows rose. “I mean, excuse me, my lady?” she corrected herself. 

“Don’t take it, Gwen,” Sybil said, beseechingly, pushing off the door and taking a step towards her. 

“I don’t understand. You went out of your way to get me this job, my lady. Last month you were so pleased for me.” Gwen bit her lip as she recalled the day of the garden party. Her delight at the news and at _Sybil’s_ delight in it soured a little by having the moment shared with Branson. It was plain as the nose on his face that he adored Lady Sybil, and she was certainly uncommonly friendly with him. Gwen couldn’t begrudge that Lady Sybil should be kind to him, of course not -- but oh she did, jealous of every kind word, selfishly wishing to have Sybil’s friendship all to herself. 

“I know,” Sybil said, biting her lip.

“What’s changed then?”

“Everything. Everything’s changed, don’t you see? The war. I can’t just sit here idling away while people are dying. I have to do something, and what better than nursing? It’s all arranged. We’re to travel on the morning train. I can’t stay with Aunt Rosamund, naturally, but there’s a boarding house with a very good reputation, close to the hospital.”

“A boarding house?” Gwen interrupted, unsure she’d heard correctly. 

“Yes,” Sybil continued, seemingly oblivious to Gwen’s growing confusion. “Tom – Branson, I mean –“

“Oh,” Gwen said, afraid she saw where this was going. The two of them were eloping, and she was wanted to carry the bags. “You want me to be your lady’s maid, is that it?”

“Maid? No, oh no, you’ve got it quite wrong. There will be plenty of openings in London for a secretary, I wouldn’t ask you to give up on your dream; dear Gwen, you must know that.” Sybil looked so sincere, Gwen felt sure she wouldn’t be able to refuse her anything.

“But – I don’t understand, if Branson – well, why do you want _me_ to come with you?” Gwen wrinkled her nose in confusion. To her surprise, Sybil blushed, a bloom of pink spreading across her cheeks. 

“Tom’s only agreed to drive me to the station,” Sybil said, “He doesn’t know -- I want you because – because I want you, Gwen. I had hoped you – I was sure you…” Sybil’s gaze grew heated and it was Gwen’s turn to blush, suddenly conscious that she was only half-dressed, that the two of them were in her bedroom with the door closed. “If I’m wrong, of course, we’ll say no more about it, but Gwen if you care for me at all, if you think of me as – well, as something dearer than a friend – then please come with me.” 

Sybil reached out and took Gwen’s hand in both of hers, squeezing lightly. Gwen felt her skin prickle. She scarcely dared think of Sybil as a friend, let alone what Sybil seemed to be suggesting. _Something dearer_ \-- the very phrase had her heart racing as though she’d run the entire length of the Abbey grounds. Surreptitiously she pinched herself on the leg to be sure she wasn’t dreaming. 

She blinked at the pain. Awake, then. Sybil was looking at her with an expression of concern, as if Gwen might faint away. Or perhaps run away. Aware that she ought to offer some reassurance, some encouragement, Gwen opened her mouth to speak, but she could find no words. What words were there that could express such a feeling between two women? When they could hardly speak of marriage or prospects or any of that. All the usual vocabulary of courtship seemed insufficient for the way Gwen’s heart beat in her breast whenever Sybil was near. How could she tell Sybil that the smell of her hair, the brush of her skin against hers, the sound of her name on her lips stole the very breath from her – especially when it was something she could barely allow herself to acknowledge within her own thoughts?

In the absence of words, then, Gwen pressed Sybil’s hand in answer, gathered enough wild courage to lean forward and fitted her lips swiftly to hers. It was barely enough to feel it as more than a tingle, yet enough to allay all of Sybil’s doubts, it seemed. There was no lingering trace of anxiety on her face as she threw her arms around Gwen, her face buried against her neck, pressing against Gwen’s skin where her blouse was open. Skin to skin she was not a lady at all, only a woman of flesh and blood and breath with the same secret wants as Gwen herself. Gwen felt herself emboldened and allowed one hand to rest firmly, possessively against the small of Sybil’s back. 

Footsteps sounded in the corridor and Sybil drew back, wide-eyed.

“Tomorrow,” she said huskily. “Before the family are awake.” 

“Tomorrow,” Gwen echoed, still dazed.

 

It was barely light, the chill of night still clinging to the air as Gwen stepped outside clutching her valise. She wasn’t sure if she was really awake or dreaming still. The events of the night before certainly didn’t seem as though they could be real, but she could still feel the press of Sybil’s arms around her, Sybil’s lips against her own, more vivid and lovely than any dream. 

Tom Branson came around and took her bag from her, giving her a friendly nod. _He doesn’t know_ , Gwen reminded herself. As far as any of them knew, she was going north. Tom knew of Sybil’s plans but not that Gwen was to join her. Gwen’s heart thudded at the thought of being caught out, Lord Grantham thundering down in disapproval. But she had handed in her notice now, her reference from Sybil tucked safe in her case. What was any of the family to her now? Let them disapprove as they liked, it was Sybil’s approval and love alone that she cared for.

Gwen couldn’t help but look about, agitated. If Sybil had changed her mind – well, that would be worse than never thinking there was any chance in the first place, for certain. But no, she was there, a slim dark silhouette in her neat, charcoal travelling outfit, carrying a case in each hand. Branson hurried to help her, and Gwen could hear her effusive thanks even from a distance, each soft sound, _thank you, Tom, so kind_. Delight bloomed on Sybil’s face as she caught sight of Gwen, even as Gwen felt herself frozen, unsure how to respond. 

“M-my lady,” Gwen stuttered, the words heavy on her tongue. Not even in her earliest days of service had she been so conscious of the way the conventions of address placed barriers between them. In her heart she named her only _Sybil_. Silently, Gwen let her lips form a slight alteration, no longer _my lady_ but _my love_.

 

The drive to the station was equal parts delight and torment. Gwen and Sybil sat side by side in the back, not touching, hands laid a hair’s breadth apart on the leather of the seat. Gwen turned to look over her shoulder as Downton was swallowed up by trees and hills and the turns in the road. Her throat was tight and she flinched at every distant noise, half-expecting to be overtaken on every bend and accused of making off with the Earl’s daughter. 

Hers fears were unfounded; they reached the station unimpeded. Branson handed their cases down, but Sybil insisted he needn’t accompany them on to the platform.

“They’ll think it strange if you’re gone too long. Please Tom.”

“Sybil –“

“If you get in any trouble over this, you need only write me, and I’ll send you any reference you could need.”

Gwen had to turn her head away, unable to stomach the look of disappointment on his face. It wasn’t a reference he wanted from Lady Sybil, that much was plain. She remembered how Mrs Hughes had warned him, the day of the picnic. _Be careful, my lad, or you’ll end up with no job and a broken heart_ , she’d said. 

But didn’t that apply just as well to Gwen? Here she was, throwing away not one but two perfectly good positions, for nothing more than a few kisses and whispered promises of change. Perhaps it was madness, all of this, fleeing at the crack of dawn like recalcitrant schoolgirls. 

Suddenly troubled, Gwen followed Sybil into the station, lost in silent thought as Sybil bought the tickets. As the train for York was announced she felt the pang of misgiving sharpen and clutched at Sybil’s arm.

“Sybil, wait.” 

“Gwen?” Sybil turned, frowning. “Whatever’s the matter?”

“Are you – are you sure? About all of this?”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“It’s only. It’s only all rather sudden, my – Sybil, and I…”

“You don’t want to.” The disappointment in Sybil’s voice was almost too much to bear. Gwen longed to wind her arms around her and kiss her doubts away.

“It’s not that. There’s nothing in the world I want more than to be with you, you must know that, only –” The train pulled into the station and around them people started bustling about to get on. Gwen’s throat felt dry, but she had to know, this was her last chance to walk away. “Only you said the war changed everything. Well, what if – they say it’ll be over by Christmas. What happens then?”

“You think I won’t want to be with you?” Sybil reached for her hand and pressed it. “Dear Gwen, never think that. It was only that I thought it impossible before, and now -- now’s our chance. Do you see?”

“Yes,” Gwen said, nodding slowly. “Yes, I see.” It was a chance in more ways than one, both an opportunity and a risk. And Gwen intended to snatch at it with both hands. If this was what they both wanted, they would make the best of it, she was sure.

“London, then?” Sybil asked with a soft, questioning smile. 

“London, then.” Gwen said eagerly.

The guard’s whistle blew, startling them both.

“Come on!” Sybil kept hold of her hand as they threaded through the scattered passengers and found their carriage, throwing themselves into their seats, giddy with love and freedom and possibility.


End file.
